Burn Everything
by DrkVrtx
Summary: You are mine now, and you will serve me well...
1. Chapter 1

_**Burn, Everything**_

Her legs felt so heavy as she dragged herself fowards, the soles of her boots dragging across the fractured ground. Her right arm throbbed painfully as she drew near to the great sword that had been thrust point first into the ground, a web of lines spinning out from its centre. She took another step and then gasped, her voice ragged as she clutched her arm to herself. She felt a hunger gnawing at her being, and knew it to be alien; a voice in her head, quiet and warped beyond her ability to understand it. It only served to make her head hurt when it spoke, as though it drew bloodied nails across the inside of her skull.

Her eyes were focused straight ahead of her, she could turn them neither to the left or right, but now, a familiar image stepped into her line of sight. She stood behind the great sword, a ring of steel almost as tall as she was resting on her shoulder. With a hand on one hip and her head tilted to the side, the girl's lips curled into a lopsided smile as she called.

"Pyrrha! Come, my sweet. I have a present for you!" The girl spread her arms wide suddenly, leaning forward over the great sword as she presented it to Pyrrha.

"For..for me?" Pyrrha said, her throat raw as she emitted a low, gravelly voice. Her right arm seemed to pulse as she spoke each word, and she finally began to understand the source of the great hunger she was feeling. Dragging her feet as she approached the sword, Pyrrha slowly noticed the single, twitching eye embedded into the centre of the blade. It looked about wildly, tirelessly seeking something she knew not of, veins of blood emanating from its dark pupil. Suddenly, its focus shifted and it was upon her, an unwavering stare that froze her in her leaden tracks.

Fear struck her cold. She didn't want this. She backed away, shaking her head even as she movement caused her great pain, murmuring "no no no".

"Pyrrha! Come here!" the girl shouted, and Pyrrha whimpered as she heard the familiar threat of violence in her voice. She hastened to obey - she had to - but the eye within the sword glared at her and she faltered. Its gaze was piercing, she felt it go right through her, staring deep into the heart of her being and lusting after a thing that was hers alone. She backed away.

"Pyrrha", the girl hissed, her voice cold, "I have no time for games".

Pyrrha could not disobey her guardian, not after she had proved time and again that she was the only trustworthy being that Pyrrha had ever known. Everything she said would happen, had; she had been the one to raise Pyrrha when her parents had died in a tragic fire. She had forgiven Pyrrha's mistrust when her brother had abandoned her. But...

"I'm scared, Tira", Pyrrha whispered, visibly shaking as the sword's eye pierced her to the core, "I'm so scared".

Tira's cruel visage immediately melted away, replaced with a soothing, comforting expression. "Come, Pyrrha, have I ever given you a gift that harmed you? Don't you like my gifts?"  
>"I - ah!" her arm burned, and without her intent, rose up and reached out towards the twisted hilt of the sword. At last, she knew the source of the hunger as it filled her being. Tira spoke quickly.<br>"Take it, my sweet!" she bid Pyrrha, "have not all my gifts been lovely? Haven't they let you spill the sweet blood of the humans? But this...with this, you can taste their very soul! Take it, Pyrrha!"

Pyrrha listened to her guardian, and at last, understood. Tira's gifts had always been good gifts. After she took them, Tira would always shower her with kind words. When she killed many with them, Tira would take her hands and they would dance among the corpses, the soles of their boots and their clothes and skin streaked with blood. Seeing Tira happy made her happy. Trying not to look back at the eye, Pyrrha stepped towards the sword and reached out for the hilt. She hesitated for a moment, drawing back slightly, but then she steeled herself, looking up and drawing comfort from Tira's light smile. She had always given her good gifts. She grasped the hilt of Soul Edge.

The world shattered. Pyrrha was blinded by an explosion of red light as she took the hilt of Soul Edge in hand. The claw that her right arm had become was shot through with veins pulsing with an evil life force, and pain set her body alight. She screamed in agony with a voice of power, her cry shaking the heavens and earth, ripping through the ground around her feet. Dimly, she heard a familiar, excited and triumphant cackle. More clearly did she hear a voice whisper within her skull.

_'...weak...I am...weak...feed me...'_  
>"What do you require?" Pyrrha asked quietly, her voice monotonous and without pause.<br>_'...souls...who...are you...slave...'_  
>"Slave?".<br>_'...you are mine...now...and you will serve me...well...but you will serve...only me...'_  
>"You are my only master".<br>_'...no...the girl...she controls you...'_  
>"No, she is my friend".<br>'...look back...see...you are her...tool...'  
>"You're lying", Pyrrha said, "she has always - "<br>_'...look, fool! Do not...question me...look...'_

Pyrrha bared her teeth in anger, but even in its weakened state, Soul Edge evoked an authority she couldn't defy. And so she opened the door to the past, looking back with the presence of Soul Edge guiding her eye.


	2. Chapter 2

Pyrrha shivered violently, wet and cold as she clutched the hilt of the short sword in her fist with all her might. The man had promised to lash her every time she dropped it from her grasp, and he always followed through. Angry red lines marred the skin of her thighs and arms. She had later learned from him that the punishment was not of his own design, but her guardian's. Tira, cruel and demanding, had given the man his strict orders. At first, when he had told her once that he didn't want to hurt her, she wondered in silence why he continued to do so. The answer had come to her soon enough.

Tira sat warm and dry beneath a small wooden shelter that housed a bench. One leg was crossed neatly over the other, and her ring blade sat contentedly upon her left shoulder, the loop of metal crossing her body and resting lightly upon the ground. The man she had hired stood beside the hut, arms folded as the steadily lightening rain dripped down his face.

"Hold the shield up, girl, I don't care if you're tired", he said. Pyrrha hefted the shield in her left hand, feeling her arms tremble and trying to hide it from Tira. She hated signs of weakness.

"Now, again: strike!"

Pyrrha drew a deep breath, gritting her teeth as fatigue bore down heavily upon her and tears of exhaustion welled up in her eyes. Grounding herself as the man had shown her, she paused for a moment before thrusting the sword forward into the softened wooden block with a cry. The man shook his head as she performed the attack, he turned to Tira.

"I have said time and again, Lady, she is not suited for this style. She is too young and frail!"

"I have my reasons, you have your instructions", Tira replied in monotone, her gaze fixed upon Pyrrha. Pyrrha did not dare look back at her guardian, instead she hid her face behind the shield under the pretence of adjusting the strap tying it to her wrist.

"Lady, I believe you hired me for my expertise - "

"And I am paying you handsomely, no?"

"Yes...about that, Lady..."

"Hmm?"

"I wished to...discuss something with you".

Peeking over the top of the wet, heavy shield, Pyrrha saw Tira finally shift her fierce gaze, looking up at the man with an intrigued expression.

"You want more, perhaps?" she said, and Pyrrha immediately knew from the tone of her voice the trap she was laying for the man.

"Lady, I am a lonely man...I would forego payment, if you would help change that. Just for a night".

Pyrrha thought the man to be crazy; if only he knew the danger of Tira's company. Tira's lips curled slowly into a devious smile. It was an unnerving sight, and Pyrrha was surprised the man didn't take hold of common sense and flee for his well being. She rose to her feet, stretching liberally as she stepped into the light drizzle. Rain danced upon the exposed skin of her upper chest, droplets rolling down her strangely fashioned clothes onto her taut, flat stomach.

"This is an interesting development", she said, eyeing the man directly, "you're a bold one".

"I know when to set aside pride, Lady", the man replied. He seemed to draw himself up to his full height as Tira sidled closer to him, puffing out his chest and crossing his arms tightly to reveal the patterns of his musculature. Pyrrha watched as she eyed him quite blatantly, her manner similar to that of a customer looking upon the wares of the local merchant.

"Yes, but still, to ask such a question..." Tira said, standing close beside the man now, sliding her arm across his broad shoulders.

"You don't seem like the type of person to care for..." he trailed off.

"Anything at all?" Tira supplied kindly, lifting a clawed gauntlet to the man's jaw. He swallowed, heat rising to his face.

"Take me now", Tira told him. His eyes widened.

"Right here, Lady?"

"Of course. I want to writhe beneath you, the rain on my skin and earth at my back".

Tira took the man's hand as he spoke, guiding it to her chest. He was enthusiastic, very much so in fact, but then he remembered and looked to Pyrrha.

"The child", he put out before Tira silenced him with a finger to the lips.

"Pyrrha, go".

Pyrrha ran. She didn't want to hear it. She had read Tira's expression and listened to her voice. She scrambled to get away from them, now that she was given permission.

There was silence for a long moment as Pyrrha hid herself behind a tree, the weight of the shield and sword forgotten for a moment. And then -

"Useless! Pathetic! Fool!"

A small cry escaped Pyrrha as she heard the sudden, strangled scream of pain from the man. She clapped her hands over her ears - attuned by now to the horrific song of death and blood - as she heard the whistle of Tira's ring blade and the wet thud of its steel striking and slicing deep into flesh.

"Stop!" she begged, screwing her eyes tightly shut and whimpering as tears rose to their corners, the man's final plea for merciless leaking through her fingers into her ears. "Please stop!" she choked out. A moment later, Tira appeared to comply. A charged silence settled upon the air, and sobbing quietly, Pyrrha let her hands slowly drop from the sides of her head. And then she waited.

Tira emerged into her line of sight after a few moments, and immediately, Pyrrha pressed herself tightly against the rough skin of the tree behind which she had hidden herself. The girl's eyes were narrowed in fury and her lips were curled into a snarl that shot Pyrrha through cold with real fear. Her posture was slumped, her shoulders upon which the ring blade sat hanging down unevenly with an invisible weight, causing the bloodied edge of the steel to drag through the dirt of the forest floor.

Dragging her feet across the ground, Tira paused and looked up, glaring into the throng of trees with a hatred for all things burning in her eyes. And then she sniffed the air, like a predator, and Pyrrha knew herself to be the prey. There was no escape. She hid herself, but Tira had already found her.

The girl loomed over her for a moment, wrapping her small, shaking form in her shadow. Her amethyst eyes burned.

"Tira", Pyrrha begged, her eyes wet, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

Her words were choked away. Tira curled her clawed gauntlet around her tender neck and squeezed.

"I should _kill you_!" she snarled vehemently, squeezing tighter for a moment before releasing the poor girl. The sword and shield fell from her grip as she collapsed to the ground. Tears dropped freely upon the ground as Pyrrha spluttered violently. Tira gazed down at her with hate before stalking away, muttering to herself in a constant snarl. Pyrrha scrambled to collect herself and the fallen weapons, her breaths ragged gasps as she hurried to follow after Tira. She had nowhere else to go, and she knew nothing, except the life Tira had given her.

**XxXxXxX**

Pyrrha rose up from out of the swiftly cooling water, reaching for the pair of towels she had laid beside the small tub. It was her birthday today, she was fifteen. Aside from that though, it would be a normal day. Birthdays were no cause for celebration, Tira had told her; Pyrrha had noticed early on that her guardian's features did not change from day to day, in fact, she resembled the Tira of a decade ago, nothing save her temperament had changed.

Sometimes, Tira would give her a gift, though it depended upon how many lives she had taken throughout the year. Her guardian kept count. It seemed that she was required to kill more and more as each year went by for Tira to think her worthy of another gift. The last time she had received one was her twelfth birthday. The gift had been the sword and shield she had used to this very day.

At first, the gifts had made her happy, because it gave her the means to make Tira happy. When Tira was happy, she would dance with her, play with her, and make her feel good and proud of herself when she showered her with kind, gentle words. But it quickly became more difficult to make Tira happy at all, and the moments in which she _was_ happy were fleeting. Instead, Pyrrha began to feel the intense weight of an emotion she couldn't name weighing down on her heart as she stilled the hearts of dozens under Tira's instruction. Tira had been very helpful when Pyrrha had eventually worked up the courage the tell her what she was feeling.

Guilt.

Pyrrha shivered as she wrapped the towel tightly around her body, lifting the second, smaller towel to her hair as she padded through the old house to her room. She passed Tira, sprawled haphazardly on the couch in the centre of the dusty living room, muttering to herself in her sleep. Her ring blade poked out from beneath the couch, its polished edge glinting in the light that filtered through the single, dusty window. The house was not theirs. The family of five who had occupied it beforehand lay beneath the earth of the garden behind it. Pyrrha had killed the man and his three children, Tira kept the distraught mother alive, forcing her to clean up the blood that had splattered the floor. She didn't survive long after that.

It cut Pyrrha somewhere deep - in a place she could not consciously name - to kill children. She found that it was best to not let them make a sound, because their cries of confusion when their mother would not wake up, or their wails when their young minds somehow grasped the idea that they would not wake up tomorrow - those things haunted her nightmares...

She pushed those thoughts from her mind. "Enough", she whispered sadly to herself. It was her birthday, and even if Tira had told her not to waste time celebrating it, she liked to do something special for herself each year. She had begun to dread receiving a gift from Tira, she would always tell her how many people she had killed that year.

Pyrrha had taken what appeared to be the master bedroom for her own, Tira hadn't seemed to care. The family had not been rich, so the room was small, but a dressing table stood against the wall opposite the bed, and upon it stood a mirror stand, the mirror itself oval in shape. Pyrrha pulled out the stool from underneath the table, and reached for the brush as she sat down.

She had learned to tune out Tira's constant sleep-chatter, and so she enjoyed the silence as she pulled the brush through her damp hair, watching it rise and fall in the mirror as she teased out the tangles. She had found a small drawer hidden with the dressing table that contained what she guessed were accessories for the mother's daughters: several ribbons and vividly coloured bows. She knew what they were, but had never worn one in her own hair before. It would be the special thing she would do for herself today, though Tira would probably tell her to take it off when she woke up and saw her.

"My my, don't you look _familiar_".

Pyrrha jumped, startled. She had tuned out Tira's muttering and not heard her wake and enter the room. Tira's face appeared over her head in the mirror, her lips curled into a lopsided grin as she absent-mindedly reached with a gauntleted hand to scratch the back of her head. She had recently braided her own hair into two long and uneven pigtails, and through some means she wouldn't divulge, managed to colour her hair with three different shades of purple.

"Familiar, Tira?" Pyrrha asked in a quiet, nervous voice. Tira's mood shifted often and usually violently as of late, Pyrrha had to be careful with almost every word she spoke, and even so, sometimes Tira would lash out suddenly and she would never know what she had done to provoke her. She felt her heart begin to beat more swiftly as Tira began to run her fingers through her hair.

"Yes, that's what I said, didn't I? You haven't been listening to me properly lately, girl".

"I do", Pyrrha said quickly, "I do, Tira. I always listen to you".

"Look at you!" Tira cried suddenly, lifting her hair into the air and seeming to find amusement in letting it drop and watching it spill over her shoulders and down her back, "don't you see it? It's so obvious!"

Pyrrha was lost, but she didn't say anything as she watched Tira play with her hair, a golden fan rising and dipping below her head every few seconds. And then suddenly, Tira was leaning over her, draping an arm over her right shoulder as she rested her chin upon Pyrrha's left. She took hold of Pyrrha's face, pointing her towards the mirror.

"And of course, you have the same eyes too. So pretty and blue, like the summer sky".

"Th-thank you - "

"I _hate_ those eyes", Tira snarled suddenly. Pyrrha suppressed a whimper as Tira spoke viciously in her ear, her lips peeling off her teeth in an ugly scowl as her eyes became hooded and burning with an anger Pyrrha had never understood. But just as quickly as her mood had darkened, she returned to her jolly self again, releasing Pyrrha's face as something else caught her attention.

"My my, girl", Tira breathed, and discomfort spread through her as in the mirror she saw Tira gaze down appreciatively at her chest. She lifted a hand to tug the towel around her body up a little further, but Tira caught her wrist in a firm grip, pushing her hand down to sit in her lap.

"Now now, no harm in looking..."

Tira of course, did more than look. Pyrrha closed her eyes and looked away, keeping a whimper locked in her throat as Tira pushed a cold hand underneath the towel.

"My my, girl..." Tira whispered, "just look at you..."

Pyrrha felt the tip of a cold gauntlet travelling up along her skin, she opened her eyes just as Tira fiercely grabbed her chin. A yelp escaped her throat as Tira's other hand began to squeeze her, it only served to fuel her suddenly violent mood.

"I hated her - I _hated her_!" Tira growled into Pyrrha's ear as she cried out in pain. She tried to pull Tira's hand away from her chest, but Tira furiously ripped her hand away, returning her hand to Pyrrha's chest with an even tighter grip. Pyrrha gasped, tears in her eyes as Tira roughly shook her face.

"Tira - I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry!"

"Shut up, girl!" Tira screamed at her, "don't give me orders. Don't speak to me with _her voice!"_

Pyrrha spluttered as Tira locked a hand around her throat and squeezed. Tears fell freely from her eyes and her chest burned with pain.

"Tira - " she managed to choke out, "today...my birth...day...how many - "

"Of course!" Tira suddenly exclaimed, her voice suddenly joyous and light and bubbling with laughter. She pulled her hand from beneath Pyrrha's towel and dropped her grip from her throat without seeming to realise they were there in the first place. Pyrrha's throat burned as she coughed and spluttered, and a hand went gingerly to her aching breast. Behind her, Tira danced on the spot for a moment, brightly speaking of the gift Pyrrha had earned herself today before disappearing from the room with a hum in her voice and a skip in her step. Pyrrha hunched over the dressing table, and her shoulders trembled as her tears splashed into her lap.

**XxXxXxX**

Pyrrha fell to her knees, blood creeping up the hem of her skirts as she knelt amongst the bodies of the townspeople and soldiers. Her sword and shield clattered as she dropped them beside her; her head throbbed intensely and the physical pain made her cry out. But her heart was torn also, beyond repair. Grief and guilt had all but twisted her being into something ugly, and she could not be forgiven. Dimly, she heard the familiar voice of Tira, singing softly as her footsteps approached. Occasionally, an excited, bubbling laugh would interrupt a chorus, or a satisfied giggle punctuate a verse.

"Pyrrha, my darling, you have done so _well_", Tira said as she came near to her.

"I want this to stop", Pyrrha begged, clutching her head tightly, "oh, my _head",_ she cried. Tira knelt besides her, cooing quietly as she stroked Pyrrha's hair.

"There there, Pyrrha, the pain will pass soon".

"You...always say that", Pyrrha gasped as something seemed to drive nails into her skull.

"And have I ever lied to you?"

"N...no".

"I know it hurts, but be strong for me, okay, Pyrrha?"

"I...can't", Pyrrha moaned, pain building behind her eyes. She screwed her eyelids shut tightly, and clutched her head even harder, pulling it down to her knees as she sobbed freely. She felt Tira's hand rub a comforting circle at her back, and felt her warm breath at her ear as she leant down to speak to her.

"You can, Pyrrha - of course you can! Look how far you've come already!"

"I don't want to kill anymore, Tira. Please, let me stop".

"You know we can't do that, Pyrrha", Tira said softly. "You and I, we are Malfested, and the humans will always try to kill us. We _have_ to defend ourselves. We have to kill _them_".

"Even the children? Even their mothers?"

"Pyrrha", Tira said in a pained voice, "don't you trust me?"

The pain in her head had begun to subside, though it stung to open her eyes and her vision swam momentarily before her tear-splashed knees came into focus.

"Can I trust you, Tira?" she heard herself say before she could stop the words from escaping her lips. Immediately, a sense of cold dread stole over her.

"Pyrrha, my darling, look at me".

She slowly did so, apprehensive and afraid. Tira took her face gently but firmly between her cold hands, holding her gaze with not the hint of a smile, smirk, or snarl on her lips.

"There she is!" came the shout from afar. More soldiers, more embittered, enraged townspeople. More humans. But Tira ignored them.

"You can always trust me", she said, "never forget that".

"I'm sorry", Pyrrha whispered, "I will, Tira".

"Good girl", Tira said as she tenderly stroked Pyrrha's sweaty brow, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She reached for the weapons that had fallen to her side, getting to her feet and holding them out to her. Pyrrha hesitated yet still, her heart torn to shreds, but she accepted them without another word.

"Just a little more, my darling. We are almost there".

"Yes...Tira".

Pyrrha hefted the sword and shield, willing her tears to stop as she slowly walked forwards to face the oncoming wave of humans whose murderous intent and hatred were focused solely upon her. Tira backed away into the shadows and the embrace of the flames that had consumed the town, a smirk curling her cold lips.

**XxXxXxX**

_Do you...still refuse to...see? Beaten, abused, manipulated...you are a slave...to her..._

**"**She lied to me".

_Yes..._

"She...abused me".

_Yes...Yes!_

"I...I want to _kill her_!"

_Kill her...and feed me..._**her soul!**


	3. Chapter 3

The world returned to her, fading into reality before her narrowed eyes. She gradually became aware of the ridged hilt of a sword clasped within a tight grip, and a shield grasped tightly in the other hand. The air about her was motionless and silent. Within her head, silence also reigned, where once before a voice had whispered incessantly. Her body buzzed with power, and burned with rage. Slowly, she turned her face to the source of a familiar voice, which she heard chatting animatedly, laughing and giggling and whooping with delight. There Tira stood, her back turned to Pyrrha as gazed up at the darkened sky, her hands cast wide like a net to catch the stars as told them her plans. Pyrrha's lips curled into a fierce snarl, a predator's growl rising from her throat.

_...Kill her..._

"...and then, we'll go back to Ostrheinsburg Castle, I think it's the best place for us to begin our work. Oh yes - _I can't wait!_"

"TIRA!" Pyrrha roared, baring her teeth as her narrowed eyes harboured terrible flames.

"What is it, girl?" Tira snarled in return without sparing Pyrrha a glance, "can't you see I am busy? Don't interrupt me!"

But Pyrrha was already advancing, her stride long and powerful as the she lifted the sword before her, pointing it directly at Tira's spine. The eye embedded in the blade's hilt swivelled constantly from Pyrrha to Tira, and she could feel the dreadful song of its impatience and eagerness rippling through her arm.

_...Yes...Her soul...feed me..._

"Shut up!" Pyrrha shouted at the voice, drawing from it a growl of outrage that shook her skull. "_Get out of my head!_"

"Girl! What are you - "

Tira turned, her heavy-lidded eyes widening as Pyrrha screamed, swinging the short sword Soul Edge had become at her neck. Swinging her head and torso, Tira's ring blade lifted from her shoulder, momentum carrying it around her neck and into the path of Soul Edge. The whistle of steel and screeching clash of blades pierced the night, joined quickly afterwards by Pyrrha's scream of anger at having failed to kill Tira. Pivoting on her heel, Pyrrha swiftly spun a complete turn, coming back around to face Tira with a vicious slash aimed at her bare stomach. Soul Edge sang as it tasted blood. Tira cursed wildly as she failed to backstep quickly enough, the tip of the sword breaking her skin.

"Bitch!" Tira screamed at Pyrrha, grasping the inner edge of her ring blade and lifting it over her head before swinging it adeptly at Pyrrha. Pyrrha raised her shield - now twisted and strengthened through the influence of Soul Edge, becoming the perfect partner for the blade itself. Turned slightly by the force behind Tira's attack as she deflected it, she shifted her balance, planting her feet and driving herself forwards, low and fast. Soul Edge became an extension of her limb as she thrust it forward with enraged cry. Tira turned the blade away from her body, hissing as it's edge grazed her flesh.

"I'm going to kill you!" she promised, the ring blade rising up in an arc from her left side. Pyrrha lifted the shield once more, and this time, the strength in her arm held the shield fast despite the momentum behind the ring blade. She hardly moved as she deflected it. Unperturbed, Tira struck again, using the momentum of the deflected attack to turn herself through a full circle, coming back around with a vertical strike rising up from the ground to split Pyrrha through the middle. But Pyrrha had already taken a small step away form her, and now, she simply leaned backwards, the ring blade whistling over her face and a small gust of wind that blew in its wake lifting the hair at her brow. Expecting some kind of impact, Tira's balance was haphazard as her arm and the blade cycled through the air.

Pyrrha roared as she moved in, pulling the shield to the side of her body, feeling a strength she had not previously possessed surging through the muscles of her arm and shoulder. She punched the shield into Tira's stomach.

The impact was solid and audible. As if Time had slowed, Tira was lifted into the air, the ring blade falling from her limp grasp as her eyes grew wide and her mouth was ripped open, blood spilling over her lips. She hit the ground on her knees, a dazed expression clouding her face as blood bubbled to her lips. Pyrrha snarled viciously, far from appeased. A sickening, wet crunch accompanied Pyrrha's shield as it sliced through the air and smashed into Tira's face.

Tira crumpled soundlessly, falling flat on the ground.

Silence settled quickly over the scene, save for Pyrrha's heavy, and almost laboured breathing. She gazed down at the broken form of the girl who had not aged a day for seventeen years, and who she knew now had not cared for her in the slightest. Her whole existence had been crafted and manipulated to ensure that she would be able to wield the twisted blade she grasped in her hand. Her life was nothing more than a lie; she had never been anything other than someone's tool, and now she was at the brink of exchanging masters.

"I am not finished with you yet", she snarled, casting down the cursed sword to the ground and taking a handful of Tira's hair into her clawed fist, lifting the girl's bloodied, battered face. She opened a single eye narrowly and regarded Pyrrha for a long moment. And then she burst into joyous laughter, spraying the ground with blood.

"Shut up!" Pyrrha roughly shook Tira's head, but the girl would not be silenced now. Her laugh was muffled and wet, but it rang through the air. Pyrrha hissed as the sound seemed to burn her ears; she transferred her grip to Tira's throat, feeling pleasure and satisfaction bubble to her core as she choked Tira into silence. But this peace did not last for long, for Pyrrha's actions seemed only to serve to cause Tira to laugh all the more. Pyrrha snarled as she squeezed harder, watching a blue tinge rise to the girl's smashed face. Then she heard her choke out a word.

"_What?_"

"P - P - Perf...ect!" Tira cried out joyously, resuming her laughter.

"What do you mean!" Pyrrha screamed into the girl's face.

"This...is...perfect", was all she said, "this...is how it should...be!"

Pyrrha stared at the broken girl before her, enraged at her lack of clear response.

"You stole my life! You made me a _monster!_"

Each word was bitten off and the last uttered with the fiercest growl yet. Pyrrha squeezed until Tira's eyes popped out and her face grew decidedly blue, but it seemed all her efforts merely gave Tira greater pleasure. With a snarl of disgust, she threw Tira's face to the ground once more and rose up from off of her knees.

_...No...NO!_

Pyrrha winced and snarled in anger as the voice of Soul Edge rang through her skull, lifting her clawed hand to the side of her face as though intending to rip the voice out of her head.

_...Slay her...Give me her soul!_

With effort, Pyrrha resisted the pull of the blade as it tried to impress its will upon her. She gazed down at Tira, whose full laughter had been reduced to a pain-filled occasional giggle as she tried to pick herself up off the ground.

"You will serve _me_ now", she told her when she eventually managed to lift her face, "and I will spare your _filthy_ soul".

"Yes", Tira whispered joyfully, "oh _yes_. I will _always_ serve the true wielder of Soul Edge".

_...NO! I need souls! Give me her soul!_

"I will give you your souls!" Pyrrha shouted at the blade she had cast down to the ground, reaching down now to retrieve it.

"I will burn the world...I was made for nothing else..."

"Yes", Tira breathed as she dragged herself to her knees.

_...Yes..._


	4. Chapter 4

The sky was tinged an ominous orange in the wake of the flames that consumed the village below. Smoke, thick and pungent, rose up into the air, coiling around an invisible centre as they reached upwards to taint the heavens. Within the burning village, the screams of its uprooted inhabitants mingled with the crackling of the flames as they chewed greedily into thatched roofs and wooden frames. The hideous creak of collapsing structures rang through the night, for a short moment drowning out cries of despair and fearful screams. The angered shouts of men dwelt among the cacophony too, men who took upon themselves the duty to protect the family they had sent running towards the forest.

Two figures walked slowly through the centre of the small, burning village, their forms wrapped in thick smoke. The men - seven in number - stood opposite them, acting as a the last line of defence as their friends and family took to their heels behind them. They bared the heat of the flames to either side of them, hefting all manner of tools as weapons. They squinted as the smoke passed before their faces, bringing tears to their eyes. Torn cloth tied across their nose and mouth kept them from inhaling the worst of it.

The two figures drew nearer. One walked with a noticeable slump and a seemingly laboured stride, as though they had been injured, for each foot appeared to drag slightly across the ground. A perfect ring of metal looped around the figure, its inner edge resting upon its left shoulder. The posture of the other was upright, normal. At the same time that the waiting men were able to see the twisted shield and sword that the figure grasped in its hands, the smoke uncoiled from about the approaching two and they saw that they were up against two young women. Incredulity overtook the, but for a moment.

Even in the hot, orange light of the surrounding flames, the pale skin of the woman carrying the ring of steel was distinct. When she looked up at them, they recoiled instinctively at the look in her eyes. They were full of madness, devoid of all emotion save a cold spark of hate that twisted her lips into a vicious snarl. But the woman who stood beside her was something else entirely. Her eyes were black like the night sky above, yet utterly devoid of the beauty of a star's light, instead there dwelt pupils of blood, and she gazed at them unblinkingly. Unlike the woman at her side, she did not snarl or growl hatefully at them; she didn't need to. Several of the men found themselves taking backward steps as she turned her gaze upon them.

"Is this it?" she spoke, lashing them individually with a contemptuous glare. Her voice was unnatural; within it they could hear the voice of a young woman and the poisonous, demonic tones of an evil force intermingling, and it was frightening to hear.

"Who are you, witch?" one of the men spoke boldly, though he clutched his weapon ever tighter.

"Witch?" hissed the woman with empty, hateful eyes, lifting a hand wrapped within the layered metal of a gauntlet to the ring of steel at her shoulder.

"Be still", her companion spoke with a tone that brooked no argument, not even glancing in the direction of the other woman. Instead, she seemed to gaze at them all very carefully, as though seeming to make a choice...

"Leave now", another man spoke up, "we won't harm women. Leave now and - "

"Kill them", the sword-bearing woman said coldly, turning away from them, "bring him to me, alive", she added, pointing with her shield arm to the man who had just spoken.

"Mistress", her companion - or rather servant - said as she bowed her head. Uneven, multicoloured pigtails hung down at either side of her face. She did not lift her head again until her mistress had disappeared into the flames from whence they had seemed to initially emerge, and when she did, her vicious snarl had curled into a sadistic, lopsided smile.

"Raaah!"

The woman swept the ring of steel from off of her shoulder, ducking her head as she grasped the inner edge in her right gauntlet and brought it over to the right side of her body. Then, with a fierce cry, she ran and leapt into the air before the men could react. With a swift, complex movement that demonstrated the young woman's mastery of the strange weapon she wielded, she passed the ring blade below her body as she planted her feet against the inner edge - the left positioned behind her whilst the right was before her. Her right gauntlet gripped the ring's inner edge alongside her left foot, giving her solid balance in preparation for -

The man who had branded the sword-bearing woman a witch was suddenly flung backwards. Blood and a sickening shriek burst from his lips as the woman rode the ring blade through the air right into his chest. They hit the ground, the man's body sliding across the ground and shuddering like a rag doll as the woman cackled, hopping into the air as the corpse's momentum came to an end. She skilfully flipped the ring blade into the air with her feet, raising her left gauntlet to neatly catch it before spinning it dangerously close to her face around her little finger.

The men stood in stunned silence; a puddle had appeared between the legs of one.

"You", Tira gestured to the man who her mistress had desired, pointing a sharp finger at him as he clutched a stubby hammer tightly in his hands.

"Come here".

XxXxXxX

Pyrrha dwelt in the darkness of a chamber somewhat deep within the bowels of the castle, sitting on the cold stone floor with her back pressed against an cold, damp and roughly hewn wall. Her head was bowed, her face falling into shadow behind a curtain of dark blonde hair; silently, she cradled her right arm to her chest, running the fingers of her left hand over the hard, mottled, twisted skin. It burned her, constantly. She was never a moment without pain. It was impossible to ignore it, to condition her mind to erase its existence, and so she was forced to endure it. And she did so, in silence. But sometimes, it became too much.

She glanced up - on a thick slab of raised stone, the cold, naked body of a young man she hadn't known or cared for lay, void of life and more importantly, soul. She pulled herself to her feet, walking over to the stone platform. Standing beside it, she looked down at the corpse, running the fingers of her flesh hand across its chest. It surprised her - now that she had a clear head - how unblemished the body was in its peaceful state of death. There were not many who she had left unmarked, perhaps this one had meant something to her. She couldn't remember, but it didn't matter anyway. What mattered was that Soul Edge had been fed, and her pain - if only for a short moment - had been abated.

Naked, Pyrrha left the dark chamber. Tira, her servant, remained without, waiting patiently for her mistress. In place of her trademark ring blade, she possessed a thick and long cloak in hand. Head bowed, she moved forward, draping the cloak across Pyrrha's shoulders.

"Mistress", she murmured, "are you satisfied?"

Pyrrha said nothing as Tira shuffled around her, pulling the cloak around her body. Tira moved to stand in front of her, with tender care securing the cloak with a heavy golden pin. As she did so, she looked up into Pyrrha's eyes, her gaze heavy with longing. Pyrrha knew what she wanted. She liked to deny it often. It gave her some pleasure to watch Tira's eyes dim in disappointment, to see her whole posture slump as she was rejected with a single word. But it gave her brief peace and respite to give her what she begged for, and today, with her whole body aflame, she could not make herself toy with her servant.

She lifted her twisted arm from beneath the heavy, warm cloak, and in one movement brought it to Tira's throat, wrapping long, jointed claws around her slender, pale neck. Tira gasped with pleasure as Pyrrha applied slight pressure, her eyes lighting up as she began to feel the influence of the essence of Soul Edge. Pyrrha leered down at her as she tilted her head backwards, waiting for the briefest moment before joining their lips.

Tira's tongue scrambled forwards to feast on Pyrrha's, and she sighed heavily as she delved deep into Pyrrha's mouth. The constant burn of the pain began to subside within her body, and Pyrrha struggled briefly for a moment to keep a sigh locked within her throat.

For a brief time after she consumed a soul for Soul Edge to feast upon, its influence was strong within her body and thus the pain it inflicted upon her was intensified. Tira seemed to be highly attuned to the essence of the cursed sword; she craved to be in its presence and so would shadow Pyrrha as closely as she allowed. A short time after they had taken residence in Ostrheinsburg Castle, Tira had - seemingly out of the blue - offered her body to her mistress. Pyrrha had blindly refused, in fact she had lashed out at Tira for even suggesting it. Later, when Soul Edge's influence within her body began to send pain prickling through her skin at every waking moment, she yearned secretly for some sort of respite. Tira had again - without being asked or told of Pyrrha's predicament - offered her body to her mistress. That time, Pyrrha gave her a chance to explain herself, whilst she had her claw wrapped around the pale woman's throat.

Her explanation enticed Pyrrha, but she would only allow Tira a kiss; the thought of writhing and groaning beneath her servant did not sit well with her.

The kiss alone was perhaps a mistake. Tira had positively drank in the essence of Soul Edge as their lips met, and Pyrrha had experienced for the first time in days a sense of peace and relief. But she caught herself sinking deeper into the sensation and in fury cast Tira aside. Right now, though...Right now, Tira was a balm she sorely needed. Her skin was afire as the spirit of the cursed sword she wielded fed upon the soul of the corpse that lay in the cold, dark chamber. She could feel it within, twisting and coiling as it sank its wicked teeth into the tender soul, the disembodied voice of the dead man shrieking in agony as he was, at the very core of his being, torn to pieces.

Tira pressed her mouth against Pyrrha's, and her body followed soon after. Pyrrha felt her eternally cold hands push beneath the thick cloak, grasping her hips, roving across her back, seeking her breasts - she grunted as Tira's fingers slipped between her thighs. She stumbled backwards as Tira pushed her up against the wall behind them, throwing out her hand of flesh to steady herself. Her grip around Tira's throat slipped away and she surrounded herself to the woman's mercy. Her kiss was hard and deep, and her fingers were wild.

When it was over, Pyrrha slumped down to the ground, her legs weak and her will weaker. But these were things which she would not show Tira. The woman was at her side on her knees in an instant, subservient in all things.

"Mistress, I hope I have pleased you".

Pyrrha did not understand how Tira was able to siphon the cursed energy from her being, nor did she understand how the pale woman enjoyed it so, when she positively detested it. It would be easy, to take Tira again and again whenever the pain grew great within in her, but she wished to show no reliance upon her servant in that manner. That was why she collected men. Men who she would have Tira drag from their homes, their wives, their brothers and sisters - she kept them in chains when they were brought back to the castle, and when the fires beneath her skin grew too hot, she would take one of them to the castle's cold, dark chambers. Few came willingly, in numerous senses. But it was simple enough to coerce them. Men were weak; many rejected and cursed her, until she lay atop them.

She found it peculiar that her sense of bodily pleasure was greater when she lay with men than when Tira sated her, but the sense of respite that came with it - though a huge surge of peace and painlessness - was fleeting in comparison. There was also the matter of fact that Soul Edge would always consume the man's soul when she experienced her peak. No matter what, she could not prevent or control it in that moment - and she had sacrificed many a soul towards the goal of becoming able to do so, to no avail. And so a bitter cycle had been established of which Pyrrha was completely aware, and yet fuelled nevertheless. It had become almost routine - along with Tira's constant request to truly satisfy her afterwards.

But there had been one encounter that had broken the spell of monotony. One of the men who she had had chained up for a period of several months had somehow managed to procure a thin spike of metal. She rode him hard and they peaked quickly, and in that moment he had rammed the spike into her gut. Soul Edge had cried out in fury as its vessel was harmed, destroying the man in both body and soul. Pyrrha though, had marvelled at the peculiar sensation that simultaneous pain and pleasure brought. Tira had been furious when she saw the blood painted across her mistress' stomach, but she had begged her almost to the point of tears when Pyrrha had expressed the desire to repeat the scenario with other prisoners...

Pyrrha turned to look at Tira...she had not forgotten. None of it. She had kept her alive to punish her, and there had been occasions where her anger and resentment had driven her to the point of almost killing the woman. Yet Tira served her as though a past did not exist between them. Pyrrha had quickly grown to understand that she represented nothing more than the cursed sword to the woman, and it was that which she served with complete and utter devotion. There was nothing she could inflict upon Tira as punishment - even death, for she was sure that Tira would find joy to be slain by the cursed sword itself.

"Mistress?"

Pyrrha drew her claw across the ground for a moment before finding purchase and pulling herself to her feet. The familiar burn of Soul Edge was already beginning to settle in, though now it had finished it's feast, the pain was somewhat lessened. Yet still, Pyrrha forced herself to resist the strong urge to take Tira once again, though it would no doubt help clear her head fully. Tugging the heavy cloak around her body, Pyrrha left Tira kneeling on the floor without responding to her. A moment later, she head the scuffle of Tira rising hurriedly to her feet, and then her footsteps as she trailed in her wake.

Following the path of several corridors that gradually became warmer and less damp as they left the dark bowels of the castle behind, Pyrrha emerged into the soft candle light of the main hall. Aged suits of armour bearing shield and spear lined the walls of the hall, silent and vigilant, the emblem carved into their steel chests long since faded into vague, shadowy blemishes. At the far end of the hall, a large yet simple throne took its place upon a raised platform, facing directly the thick doors that led to the outside world. Here Pyrrha headed and then seated herself, and though she wore a thick garment, took warmth from the numerous candles that stood around the regal seat. Resting her arms along that of the throne, Pyrrha gazed at the doors ahead of her, expectant - or so it seemed.

"Mistress, where do you intend to travel next?" Tira asked, sitting on her knees at the base of the throne and looking up with sparkling, worshipful eyes at Pyrrha.

"West, perhaps", Pyrrha said after a moment and nothing more, still looking towards the doors with a mild intensity in her gaze. Her gaze shifted as the fluttering of wings was heard high above, and Tira rose to her feet, delight upon her face as a pair of her trusted ravens circled around a candle-bearing chandelier before one spiraled down to alight upon her outstretched fist. Pyrrha watched as Tira brought the raven to her lips, kissing its bowed head as she stroked its breast delicately.

The exchange between Tira and her ravens fascinated Pyrrha. She had considered killing them early on, when Tira had shown her affection for them. It wasn't clear, however, if the pair of ravens she always saw Tira attending to were the only ones in her possession, and killing them wouldn't do well for Pyrrha's ability to attain information about the outside world. Now though, Pyrrha watched with an arched brow as Tira's look of delight was overshadowed with genuine surprise as her eyes widened, and then dimmed with worry.

"What is it?" Pyrrha demanded of her.

"Mistress", Tira began, almost hesitantly, "there is...a man coming".

"Oh?" Pyrrha said, raising her claw so that she could rest her chin upon it, "he made it beyond the Cursed Guard, did he?"

"Yes, Mistress".

"And who is he? What standard does he bear? No common fool, I hope".

"Mistress", Tira said with an apparent grimace, "his shield..."

"What about it?" Pyrrha said, and then when Tira did not reply, she favoured the pale woman with a cold, hard gaze. "Speak".

But Tira fell to her knees at the foot of the dais, pressing her face to the ground.

"Mistress, forgive me! There are things I have not told you".

"Then, tell me now", Pyrrha said in a perfectly, dangerously calm tone, "who is this man?"

"He..." Tira began, but could not seem to finish. In fact, she had begun to tremble, as though preemptively fearing Pyrrha's wrath.

"Come here, Tira", Pyrrha said softly, beckoning her with her hand of flesh.

Tira rose to her feet slowly and stepped onto the dais, and like a children before an angry parent, she could not raise her eyes to meet Pyrrha's. She fell to her knees before her mistress, her head bowed low. Pyrrha leaned forward and reached out with her hand, lifting Tira's face with a finger beneath her chin. Tira, for once, looked almost distraught. Pyrrha would usually make contact with her with her claw, as she could put more strength into it if she wanted to choke or strike Tira, the compromise being that Tira would draw pleasure from direct contact with the manifestation of Soul Edge. But there was no such comfort here.

"You would not lie to me, would you, Tira?" Pyrrha asked softly.

"No, Mistress", Tira whispered, shaking her head.

"Good", Pyrrha said, almost absent-mindedly stroking Tira's cheek, "then tell me. Who. Is. He?"

"He is your brother, Mistress", Tira said.

"My brother?" Pyrrha repeated, stroking down from Tira's brow to her jaw, "but, Tira, I have no family. Remember? You told me so, over, and over, and over again".

"I lied to you, Mistress", Tira confessed, trembling as she whispered the words.

"Of course you did", Pyrrha said, her black gaze intense, "of course you did".

Her face was suddenly twisted with rage and hatred, and her hand blurred through the air, raising a sharp crack as she violently backhanded Tira across the face. The pale woman was almost knocked clean off the dais, throwing out a hand to save herself at the last moment. Pyrrha's heel stamped down upon that hand a moment later, and the screech of the ravens perched high above mingled with Tira's scream of pain. Her teeth bared like a predator's, Pyrrha ground her heel into Tira, relishing the woman's cry and the fierce sting that burned through her own hand after backhanding Tira.

"Forgive me!" Tira shrieked, "Mistress, I beg you!"

"Silence", Pyrrha commanded, with an effort returning calm to her voice and face, tugging the heavy cloak about herself as she lifted her heel, "my _brother_ approaches".

A dark, hazy aura had encompassed her claw as she spoke, and now she passed it slowly before her face, a solid form beginning to materialise from nothingness as she did so. Tira's moistened, pain-filled eyes widened with delight as Pyrrha slammed Soul Edge point first into the ground between her legs. She gazed upon the cursed sword with worshipful eyes, immediately forgetting her pain and her mistress's actions.

"Get up", Pyrrha said coldly, "and kindly open the doors for my dear brother".


	5. Chapter 5

The great doors swung open, and Tira crept back into the sanctuary of their shadow hastily. Born upon the wind, a cutting chill slipped into the hall. The candles about the throne swayed, flickering momentarily as the cold gripped them. The rhythmic clank of metal filtered into the room, announcing the approach of the lone warrior who had become the first to succeed in passing through the lines of the Cursed Guard, they that stood watch at the boundaries of the land upon which the castle was seated. Tira crouched low as she pressed herself into the shadows, like a wild cat hiding from the gaze of a greater predator. Soon enough, the man her ravens had warned her was approaching stepped beyond the doors and into her line of sight.

Tira hissed silently as the eyes of the great cat burned, sunken deep into the face the man's shield and watching her unblinkingly as she hid herself. The man himself did not take notice of her presence, however. His attire was blue, though decorated with armour of a polished silver, covering his shoulders, torso, and legs. He appeared to bear no weapon, Tira noticed, only the plum red shield patterned with gold into whose centre was crafted the snarling visage of the great cat that knew her presence. And around this image, the familiar lines were bordered in gold, a symbol that Tira knew her mistress would recognise immediately. And then, she noticed the crystalline blue hilt of a sword poking out above the rim of the shield. Her blood boiled as she recognised it instinctively, and her lips peeled off her teeth as she snarled.

The man stepped beyond the doors now, approaching the dais of the hall's regal seat, the sharp chill of the outside world following in his wake. Stepping into the embrace of warm light, one could see the scars of battle that laced the man's armour, and the pits and scored lines where the point of a sword had been turned away from its killing path. Likewise, the man's face bore the shadow of war, sharpening his soft youthful features. Yet still, there were clear resemblances between him and the young woman he brought himself to stand before.

The hilt of the crystalline blade began to brighten as he moved closer to the dais, and Tira leaned back, barely keeping her venomous hiss quiet. Up on the dais itself, Soul Edge crackled with the ancient hatred it bore for its brother. The ever watchful eye widened as its constant roving ceased, fixing itself upon the man unblinkingly as jagged crimson lines shot across its surface, forming a web that extended outwards from its yellow pupil. She could no longer see his face, but the man glanced first at the blade sheathed at the underside of his shield before looking up to meet the eye of the Cursed Sword. A grimace shaped his features, softening as he finally looked up to the figure that had folded itself comfortably into the arms of the throne.

He knew her at once. Her dark blonde hair framed her face, lying across the shoulders of the heavy black cloak she wore. Beneath the folds of the voluminous garment, he glimpsed the pale cream of her skin, and the gentle swell of the underside of her breasts. She moved even as he quickly shifted his gaze. His eyes found hers, and he despaired.

It was true, then. He had seen the posters, fixed to the walls of many a building in many a town as he travelled across the lands, ultimately in search of her. He had hoped against it, for to look upon the image of her reminded him of the sins of his recent and painful past. He had long since cast away the sword stained with the blood of innocents, but the stench of their death remained on their hands. Yet, here before him was another. His sister, malfested.

"Welcome, honoured warrior", she greeted him, her eyes fierce and cold and her voice lacking any welcoming warmth. He could hear her true voice within the warped tones she possessed. The young, fragile voice of his sister clashed disturbingly with the harsh, grating rasp of the evil energies that had poisoned her soul. And it appeared that she did not know him.

"You have made it beyond the ranks of my Cursed Guard", she said. "I am impressed".

The Cursed Guard she referred to had been a 'gift' of sorts, demanded of the cursed blade in exchange for her service. Pyrrha had scoured the castle upon arrival, finding there to be suits of armour similar to those that stood in quiet watch within the hall in almost every corridor the castle possessed. Through Soul Edge, she had been able to infuse them with a twisted imitation of life. Flaming eyes had sprung into being behind steel visors, and with the ancient creak of metal, her Cursed Guard had been born.

She had sent them out to ring the perimeter of the castle; she was not blind to the strong possibility of an assault directly upon her abode, not after how she planned to wreak havoc across the lands. It had been a wise decision. No one had managed to break through the the line of defence posed by the Cursed Guard, until now.

"The defence of the Cursed Guard is infamous", the man allowed, "but their eyes are watchful of the many, rather than the few".

His sister narrowed her eyes, eyes that he searched diligently for the spark of life that would represent the sister he'd spent so long looking for. However, all that existed there was the fires of a hatred stirred by the evil that had corrupted her. Her lips curled even as she opened her mouth to speak.

"What do you mean"? she demanded of him.

"They will take notice of an army, but a single quiet soul may slip through them unknown".

"My Cursed Guard are not taken for fools", she snarled. The venom in her voice cut through him, and despite himself he felt the light of hope he had carried with him all this way waning.

"They will, however, take the bait of a distraction", he said quietly.

Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to process his words, and then they widened in understanding. The fire of her gaze intensified as she glared down at him, and he saw the grip of her monstrous claw tighten upon the arm of the throne.

"This is how you would greet me, Brother? With an army in tow, you come to slay me?"

So she knew. He had always wondered if she would. He had dreamt countless times of their eventual meeting, those dreams tainted as he began to hear of her actions and her notoriety across the land rose. What she had done far eclipsed his own sins, yet he would never dare to bring himself to judge her. She was his sister, long lost and hard sought for, stolen from the arms of their family by the ring blade wielding witch he vowed to slaughter. He needed her in his life, and she needed him. They were all the family they had left.

"Pyrrha", he spoke softly, as though the gentle nature of his voice would soothe her rage.

"You know my name", she said, "but I know not what to call you".

"Patroklos", he told her.

"Patroklos", she said slowly, his name rolling off her tongue. "Patroklos..."

She stood to her feet then, the heavy cloak falling below her knees as she rose. Patroklos remained still as she stepped away from the throne and down the dais. She left the cursed sword in its place, thrust point first at the foot of the throne as its bulbous eye turned and tracked her path. She came before him, her eyes roving across his body as she took him in from head to thick boots, and he felt her scouring gaze the entire way. A thick, tense silence settled around them as she lifted her eyes to his once more, a mere few feet separating them.

"I suppose we are family", Pyrrha said to her brother, her eyes sliding downwards as she spoke. "I would embrace you, but..."

She tilted her head in a strange manner as she gestured idly with her claw. Patroklos followed her eyes, grimacing as he looked upon the glowing hilt of Soul Calibur.

"Pyrrha, what has happened to you?"

"Unspeakable things, dear brother", she replied, looking away from the spirit sword as it pulsed with light.

"Where is the woman that stole you from us?" Patroklos said, his hands clenching as anger laced his voice. "Where is the damned bitch who tore our family apart?"

Pyrrha cocked her head as she surveyed him. "What would you do to her, if you saw her now?"

"I would feed her Soul Calibur", he promised. "I would make her feel _every single_ painful second of her death".

Tucked away in the shadows, Tira waited silently, unaware that she had stopped breathing. She had seen her mistress's eyes flash in her direction when she had tilted her head.

"That's a shame", Pyrrha said, turning away. "I would have enjoyed such a spectacle".

Patroklos' brow furrowed. "But she has been reported to be travelling with you. I assumed - "

"She escaped from me", Pyrrha cut across her brother as she looked back over her shoulder. "Very recently".

Patroklos looked up as he heard a sharp _caw_, accompanied by the fluttering of wings. A black shadow melted away from the candle-bearing chandelier above his head.

"What now then, Patroklos?" Pyrrha said as she stepped up onto the dais once more, though she did not take the throne.

"Pyrrha..."

"You have brought an army to my door", she said, turning to face him. "An army of embittered, vengeful men who have lusted after my blood for days and weeks and months".

"I'll...I'll make them stop".

"My only brother is a fool", she said coldly. Patroklos looked away from her, his heart aggrieved. The will of the spirit sword was pulsing through him, barely held at bay by his own as it whispered its mantra in his ear.

_Justice..._

"I won't do it", he told her. "I won't".

She regarded him silently for a long moment, and then she lifted her hand of flesh to the thick golden pin at the neck of the cloak. Heat rose to Patroklos' face and - despite himself - to his loins as the heavy cloak was shrugged from his sister's shoulders. Warm candlelight flickered across her skin as she leant down and tugged the cursed sword from the ground. The bulbous eye of Soul Edge flared with light as it was grasped by Pyrrha's claw, and Patroklos was forced to turn his face away and shield his eyes.

"There is no hope for me, Patroklos", he heard her speak as the bright light gradually began to dim. "I am lost to you".

"There _must_ be another way!"

"Perhaps there is", she agreed. He turned back to his sister, his eyes widening as they fell upon her. He had never witnessed it himself, but he had seen enough images of the creature for it to be burned into his mind's eye, never to be forgotten. As he looked upon his sister, he thought for a moment that he had come face to face with the terrible beast for himself. That single warning ran through his mind, spoken by the man who had wielded Soul Calibur before him.

_If you come across Nightmare, run. Do not think to reason with it. Do not think to fight it. Run._

But he couldn't, not now. What stood before him was not Nightmare in truth, but the cursed sword had armoured its bearer in similar, terrifying fashion. Metallic hands gripped a twisted shield and sword within them, and all that remained to be seen of his sister was her glowing, fiery eyes embedded deep into the fearsome azure helm. Soul Calibur burned cold as he grasped its hilt without conscious thought, demanding to be pitted against its twin as he drew it from his shield-sheath.

"Pyrrha", he tried one last time, "we don't have to do this. We're family!"

His sister's stride was accompanied by a foreboding metallic clank as she stepped down from the dais.

"If you had only found me sooner, dear brother".


End file.
